


autopsy of meeting

by janigkale



Series: ripples [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Angst and Humor, Awkward elevator conversations, Gen, Grey's Anatomy References, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, M/M, Natasha is a fellow, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Science Bros, Steve and Tony are residents, being late, hangovers, inaccurate depiction of residency, just a little, medical AU, natasha’s here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 11:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14768502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janigkale/pseuds/janigkale
Summary: Tony Stark is late, hungover, and his attending is probably going to kill him. Steve Rogers has thankfully left the elevator open, and Tony thinks about things along the way.





	autopsy of meeting

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve always wanted to make a Hospital or Medical AU for something. Also, the thought of Tony and Steve awkwardly talking in an elevator was just something that I needed to get down. Hope you enjoy!

The first time Tony meets Steve Rogers, it’s in an elevator.

And no, it’s not one of those romantic soap opera shows where people propose in an elevator or make out or something.

It’s simply because Tony had been late for his shift, on account of getting up late because of his thing with Rhodey. Being drunk and stupid and forgetting you’re working extra early tomorrow morning and also forgetting that Stephen Strange will eviscerate you if you’re even a minute late for his neuro rounds was probably not a great idea. 

Huh. That had been fun.

His scrubs smell faintly of damp rain, and it’s not particularly pleasant, even if the mushy innards of his brain slowly turning to pulp feels even worse. He’s only twenty three- younger than all the first year residents, sub-interns even, and sometimes their eyes laser holes in his back, wondering, questioning, judging. Tony doesn’t care- even if he does, it’s not as if caring will suddenly make them friendly and outgoing. He’s smart- really smart for a reason- he knows how people’s minds work. 

So, the elevator.

Steve, tiny, bird-boned, had held the elevator doors open, and he had stumbled in with the files in hand, nearly crashing into the adjacent wall. Steve, thankfully did not comment. Steve’s older than him- everyone’s older than him, but he’s almost a head shorter than he is, tiny, and almost fragile. But he’s not, and Tony knows that. He’s a deception- argues for his patients with passion, energy coursing his body like electricity, pale eyes flashing a defiant azure.

It’s almost reminiscent of Bruce, and an ache tingles in Tony’s chest thinking about that. Bruce was everything he wasn’t- level, calm, patient- but incredibly intelligent as well, and he’d idly sip away his tea as Tony would rattle off more things he’d found in medical journals. But then, Bruce had flown halfway across the world, becoming a medic in some obscure third world country. Bruce is selfless in that respect- always has been.

“Bruce,” Tony had said. “Only you, you know?”

Bruce had laughed, a light, warm chuckle. He’d been skimming over his notes for the boards later that month. “Really?”

Tony looked at him, leaned in, and poked his rib, which Bruce swatted away. “Yes,” and he’d been jealous- because he couldn’t do that- leave everything to recreate himself, even through, god, he wants to. He still remembers the weight of the wires in his hands begging to be connected, or the oppressing stare of his father, etched in his memories. 

He thinks about Howard, turning the thought over, as he leans against the wall, and falls upon one memory. His mother had been at some charity gala, Jarvis in England for a family matter.

Tony recalls the smack, the harsh thwap of the newspaper.

“When the hell did you decide to go to medical school?” Howard’s voice had been thin, snappish.

Tony remembers the reply, sharp and free on his tongue. “Why the hell do you care? You never did before.”

There’s not much else he remembers- except the warm, metallic taste of something on his teeth, as he swiped his tongue across, tasting the iron. He wakes and the sun leaks in, and his mother sits by him, smelling like jasmines and honey, but the stench of guilt clouds everything. 

“What floor are we going to?” Steve asks, and Tony snaps out, suddenly jolted into the clinical smell and the feeling of wrinkled scrubs crinkling across his torso. 

“Five would be nice,” Tony says, a tint of flirtatious shading his tone, and Steve honest to god rolls his eyes, before tentatively pressing the button. 

Tony looks at him, and wonders, eyes skimming the slight frame, the shoulders held back, almost daring, protective, and blond hair, parted to right. It’s all to seem more, he thinks. More than what he is in the outside. Tony blinks, and swallows a gob of saliva.

“Are you busy?”

Steve looks at him, incredulous. “When am I not?”

Tony licks his lips, amends his statement, and his mind dulls, because he doesn’t know how to freaking do this, because Rhodey was an accident and Bruce was by chance. 

“No, no- I meant, today.”

Steve narrows his eyes, slitting to a sliver of ocean blue, and his tone is crusted with icicles. “Did someone put you up to this?

Tony’s not offended- he senses the uneasiness like it’s a sign on his face, and he’s come across it too many times himself. Even with the biting retort, there’s a slip in Steve’s tone, one of confusion. 

“Sure,” he replies, words like honey on his tongue. “But, you know, I’ve got zero friends, so, you know, sincerity?” That’s not exactly true- he’s got Bruce and Rhodey, even if he only sees Rhodey once in a while, and his friendship with Bruce is limited to grainy video calls and convoluted texting conversations filled with way too many inappropriate jokes. 

That counts.

No, it doesn’t. 

Steve looks at him, eyes still narrowed in distrust, but they smooth out, eventually to their almond shape. He stares at the elevator doors, bites his lips, judging him. Tony. Which he’s used to of course, but it doesn’t mean he cares any less. Pretending not to is a temporary treatment, but soon the infection will come. 

Steve doesn’t look at him for the remainder of the elevator ride, and it burns hard in Tony’s chest, like choppy waves that are circling him. Drowning him.

The door opens, and it’s empty, quiet outside of them, and Tony is still caught up in the wiring of his brain, so much so, that he doesn’t realizes when Steve talks.

“There’s that place across the street.”

Tony struggles to piece together a mental image. “The shawarma place?” He’d never had it.

Steve shrugs, and only talks once more, and his voice sounds small and unsure. “My shift ends at 7.” He strides out, files in hand, leaving Tony for once, speechless. Had that actually happened, his mind questioned, or is it some crap dream and you’re going wake up and Strange is going to threaten to kick you out again? 

It occupies his mind, the whole of his shift, buzzing against the barrier between thought and reality. 

Walking into the place feels like a bad joke with a sour taste, maybe because he thinks Steve is screwing with him. Which honestly, he hopes not, because nothing good happens when you do that. He has experience. He settles at the counter, idly traces a finger across the menu, and is just about to go on a tirade of mental cursing when-

Steve is next to him and Tony’s chest bottoms out. 

Crap. 

But Steve doesn’t looked pissed or distrustful or particularly annoyed at his lack of reaction. He offers up an awkward, little smile that curls into his face, and Tony admits, is a little sweet, like the aftertaste of ice cream after it’s all done.

“I don’t even like shawarma,” he says, and Tony looks at him, arches an eyebrow. 

“Seriously?” 

Steve shrugs. “I ate it once- just didn’t like the taste.” 

It’s crappy conversation, but Tony still orders it anyway, and actually likes it, grins as Steve makes a face, affronted and amused all wrapped in one. Tony happens to like pissing Steve off, and is good at it, but Steve can be equally as snarky if he wants to be. And, god, it’s nice, it swells deeply in Tony’s chest like hot cocoa, and before they know it, it’s midnight.

Tony swears, loudly, because he’s never getting any sleep at this rate. Steve smirks, but it’s not harsh, and they end up talking even more. It shouldn’t make sense, Tony decides, under the ochre lights of the shawarma place, which is open ridiculous hours. It shouldn’t make sense that they’re discussing how they’re both a little afraid of the trauma fellow, Natasha, or how Steve wants to go into cardio, or how the food in the hospital cafeteria is crap. 

But Tony thinks, it doesn’t have to, because what kind of fun would that be?


End file.
